Breathe
by NixiexGrey
Summary: Clarissa Fray got into the college of her dreams: Tisch. She's on her own now without the help of her two loving parents, Luke and Jocelyn, and has no friends to hang out with. Until one day she has a "run-in" at a cafe near her school with two boys.
1. Chapter 1

**Sooo I know it's really random for me to come up with this story idea, but bear with me. I was bored, and decided to edit a few pictures I have in my folder. Turns out, I killed about over an hour of my time and I still have to write this damn research paper part. So I hope that you all enjoy this just like I enjoyed it, and as a random thing I want to throw out there, every one of you guys should totally listen to Ellie Goulding! She's this British chick whom I'm not friends with, but think her music is amazing :) That about wraps that up, so here goes nothing! Yay random inspirations that come out of nowhere!**

**P.S. This story doesn't follow Cassandra Clare's story. It's not **_**completely **_**different, just imagine it starting over from the beginning…Okay I'm giving too much away, JUST READ and you'll see what I mean.**

Clarissa Fray could never think back to a moment where she picked up a writing utensil and had nothing pouring out of it a second later. Drawing to her was like breathing and eating for someone else–completely essential for her sanity as well as her well-being. But this moment now, within the confines of her private study, was that one moment that started a series of frustrated moans as she ripped sheet after sheet of paper, disappointed in her ability–or lack therefore–to create a masterpiece that she dreamed would come to her when she needed it the most: for the National Artists Competition.

"No, no, no, _no!_" She tore the barely drawn on piece of paper off her sketchbook, crumpled it up until it was beyond recognition and hurled it across the room and didn't even feel a tad bit happy when it _swished_ into the garbage bin. "This is _all wrong_!"

Clary lifted her head up from the drawing and felt tears well up when they found the threshold of her room. By now, her mother or Luke would've waltzed right into her room with a steaming cup of her favorite tea, sat down with her and would've tried–and failed–to help her out of her slump. That's what they always did whenever she was frustrated.

But not anymore.

Clary turned eighteen about a month ago, and the moment she did, she bought her very own brownstone in SoHo so that she was close to Tisch, a school in NYU that she had been accepted in. And while living on her own had its ups, there were also downsides–in this case, not having anyone to lean on in times of desperation.

Clary picked up her cellphone and turned it on, not surprised to see she had five missed calls from her best friend, Izzy. She contemplated calling her back, but decided against it, reasoning that Izzy probably wanted to hang out and she wasn't exactly "in the mood" for a big heaping of Izzy-time.

On a last minute whim, Clary picked up her messenger bag, threw in her planner, keys, sketchbook, pencils (of the graphite and colored variations) and stormed out of her brownstone, letting her feet wander wherever they pleased.

Not surprisingly, they wound up taking her to Fanelli Café, a cute cozy little place that served delicious food as well as coffee. It was funny how she wound up discovering this place a few blocks away from school; it had been the day of the big move, and it was pouring outside. She decided to stop by since it was raining cats and dogs outside and once inside, she filled her lungs with the scent of sweet coffee beans as she was doing at the moment.

"Hey Fray!" She pulled out from her reverie to spot a somewhat familiar head of black hair and beady brown eyes peering at her throw thick black-rimmed glasses. "Got your coffee for you."

"Hey," she smiled sheepishly. He must've been a boy from her class, but his name seemed to have escaped her. "Thanks so much."

"No problem, Fray," he beamed as he held out her coffee for her. However, her reflexes weren't in sync with his and he wound up dropping the Styrofoam cup on the glass counter, almost splashing it on Clary. "Aw crud!"

Clary stifled her laughter but couldn't hide her smile as the poor boy fumbled with a roll of paper towels to clean up the mess and wound up using all the napkins in a nearby napkin dispenser. "Shit, shit," the boy moaned. "My boss is going to murder me!"

"It's fine," Clary giggled. "Really. I wasn't looking for coffee anyway…just…a place to think."

"Oh," the boy looked disappointed at first and began to fiddle with his nametag. Clary made a mental note to remember his name: Simon. "Well, you should go to one of the outdoor tables. It's really nice out."

"Thanks," Clary smiled as she shuffled outside, weaving her way in between the winding line until she was half-shoved outside. Simon was right; it was gorgeous out, the skies so blue that Clary's fingers twitched, yearning to try to sketch the stark contrast between the concrete skyscrapers and the cerulean blue sky…

…If only there were a table available. Clary sighed as she hitched her bag higher, taking in the lack of availability as a sign that she didn't belong here. Great, she grumbled; just when I thought I was starting to fit in, too.

"Uh, excuse me?" Clary spun around on her heel, her eyes snapping to meet a pair of amber ones with golden swirls that danced around the borders of the irises–which would've been amazing to sketch if they weren't portraying a fixed look of irritation.

"What?" she stuttered, taking a step back so that a comfortable distance was between them.

"You're in my way," the golden boy–an apropos title due to his tan skin and blond hair–smirked. He lifted up a cardboard crate containing two cups of coffee and a bag in the other with a hefty-looking bag strapped over his shoulder.

"Oh. Right, okay," Clary stammered, taking another step back, causing her to stumble into a seated girl who shot her a dirty look. The boy didn't say anything as Clary continued to collide into several other people as she backpedaled enough for two giraffes to have a party in between the two.

"Now look what you made her do!" The girl Clary had collided with shrieked, jumping out of her seat to show everyone in the café that her blue blouse was now spoiled with coffee. The girl shot Clary a death look so frightening, she felt her inside slowly die organ-by-organ.

"Calm down," her boyfriend yelled at her, but it was too late. She was already storming down the block and making a turn, causing him to get up and chase her down.

"Aren't you resourceful?" the golden boy chuckled as he pushed the remains of the previous couple and sat down in the boyfriend's chair. Clary swallowed audibly and nodded once, not sure why she was agreeing with him. The boy began to sift through the bag and pulled out a sandwich, acting as if she weren't standing right in front of him, gawking at him. After taking a bite of his sandwich did he decide to acknowledge her. "What? Aren't you going to sit down?"

"I don't know who you are," Clary rasped, feeling even more out-of-place than usual.

He sucked on his thumb for a moment, reminding Clary of an innocent baby boy, before sticking out his hand for her. "The name's Jace. Now sit down, your coffee is getting cold."

"My _what_?"

"Your _coffee_," Jace enunciated 'coffee' in spite of her with a lopsided smile on his face. "I was on line behind you, saw that dorky new guy hitting on you and failing miserably, so I decided to order you a coffee since my stunning good looks don't render people brainless."

Clary pondered what he said for a moment as she sat down, not fully sure whether or not Jace was complimenting or insulting her. As she took a long sip of her coffee, she settled with both and neither at the same time.

"Thanks," she sighed, her energy back now that caffeine was being circulated inside her body. She opened up her bag and pulled out her sketchpad, hoping that now she had more energy, she could make herself draw something that would move her art teacher to tears.

"You're an artist?"

"Huh?" Clary looked up from her sketchbook, her thoughts interrupted. She had been unconsciously tracing her initials on the cover of the book. "Oh. Yeah, I study at Tisch. I want to become an artist."

"What kind?" Jace leaned in on his elbows, his full attention on her. Clary blushed, not used to this much attention before.

"The drawing kind?" She had attempted and failed at witticism when the joke flew over his head. "I don't know what my style is yet, so I hope that by the time I graduate, I master it–whatever 'it' may be."

Jace reclined in his chair and without taking his hawk eyes off Clary, took a sip of his coffee. Clary felt a shiver run down her spine and wasn't sure whether or not she enjoyed it. "I play guitar at Juilliard. I plan on making it big that way. I've been writing my own music since I was old enough to sing."

Clary nearly choked on her coffee and quickly picked up napkins to wipe her face with before speaking. Jace watched as she did this, an amused expression on his face. "You play at _Juilliard?_ That's amazing!"

"You know what never ceases to amuse me?" he interrupted, leaning forward again, closer this time. "People and their reactions. You tell them one thing about yourself and regardless, they always act the same: 'Oh _Juilliard?_ You _must_ be talented!' I never said I was excelling, and yet, the name alone renders you speechless–or rather, unintelligent. But maybe that's just me."

Clary felt hurt, angry and embarrassed all at the same time–which, for her, was a novice and not something she was particularly excited about. Was her reaction really that common amongst people? Clary thought about all the times she'd told people what she aspired to be, about all the times she'd shown people her work and felt her cheeks burn when she realized that they all had said the same thing in only a few variations: "Oh wow, that's amazing!"

"Don't be sorry, though," he went on as if he could read her mind. "In a world full of over 6 billion people, it's hard to be 'unique'. The way I see it, if we all try to be 'unique', then we're all technically the same. We all might not actually _be_ the same, but our motives are the same, and that's enough to be a textbook definition of the same. So I don't really get offended when people react the same because out of all the people in the world, what are the chances that there's someone out there not like 'the others'?"

Clary felt her mind spin like crazy with every word that Jace spewed and her fingers were twitching as if they were on fire. Suddenly inspired, she picked up a pencil and began to sketch. She was on such a roll that she didn't even pay any attention to how silent Jace was.

She started off with a circle, then a line, continued on an angle with another, shaded in certain regions until she forced herself to stop, slamming the pencil down so hard that her coffee cup almost spilled.

"Can I see?" Jace asked softly, his voice the loudest amongst the cacophony that was New York City.

Clary tore her eyes away from the sketchbook so that she wouldn't try to find any mistakes before handing it over and closed her eyes as Jace scrutinized her drawing. She tried to conjure the image up in her mind despite herself and was surprised to find that she had no imprint of it in her mind like most of her older drawings. It was as if her mind and fingers were on their own planet when they sketched it, without her help at all.

Jace let out a low whistle and let out a breathless "wow" and before she could stop herself, Clary reached out and snatched the sketch back. Her eyes scanned the picture for any flaws, but even she had to admit, it was good. No, _beyond good_. It was the piece she had been waiting for, the piece she knew in both her heart and mind that her teacher would love. And unlike most of her artwork, Clary had a feeling that she loved it as well.

**So what do you guys think? Please rate and review and maybe I'll write more…if I'm up to it. But it all depends on whether or not you guys rate and review so make sure you get right to it!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Has anyone else noticed that in times of high stress when I'm doing last minute work, I always digress and update my long overdue stories to keep my sanity? I guess I really do write to keep sane. Gah, I just hate doing work :/ it's so depressing, isn't it? Anyway, random update! Not too long, but enough for a tease, no?**

**Here we go!**

**Rate/Comment/Tell Me What's On Your Mind/Favorite/Subscribe/Whatever You Do!**

Clary kept her eyes glued on one of her older pieces-an oil portrait of a girl sitting in a huge booth all alone on the background painted in tan hues-in order to steady the nerves that caused her knees to buckle and stomach to do cartwheels inside of her. It was the day of the competition, which was situated in Javit Center, and she was anxious. She had already submitted her final masterpiece-the one that Jace inspired her to paint, the one that rendered her art teacher to a blubbering baby-but like all the other aspiring artists, she had complied a small display of her best works that her teacher "strongly recommended"-a.k.a forced her to add in.

"Wow," a familiar sweet-as-honey voice gasped behind her. She spun around on her heel, already expecting to see a pair of amber-ish golden eyes staring back at her.

"Thanks," she blushed. It had been a week since she'd seen him, and even though it was foolish of her, she had half-anticipated that he'd show. Now that he was actually here, she didn't know what to do.

"I knew you were good," Jace complimented. "But I had no idea to what caliber." His eyes were fixed to the portrait on the wall and flicked back to her as he added, "You're going to win, just so you know."

"Um, thanks," Clary said sheepishly. "But it's not like you're a professional judge or even psychic."

"You are going to win," he repeated with such conviction, Clary felt overwhelmed. "I know your work and I've seen the others. They lack so much emotion that you put into your paintings, it's mind-boggling how they even made the semi-finals."

"But what if I don't get first?" Clary persisted. "What if I get second?"

"Then you plan our next get-together," Jace's eyes were glittering in a way that made Clary's hand itch for a pencil. "And if I win, then I plan. That way, we all win." Jace spun on his heel gracefully–which was probably a lot harder to accomplish since he had a guitar slung over his shoulder–and began to walk away.

"Wait!" Clary called out, her heart pounding wildly in her chest.

Jace stopped mid-stride and looked at her from over his shoulder. He was so…so _insouciant_. Yes, that was the word she was looking for. His appearance, his demeanor, everything about him screamed that word. And yet…

But before she could finish that thought, the judges began to encircle her, cutting off her view of Jace. She went on her tiptoes, desperate for one last glance from him, but it wasn't until he was about to round the corner did he look over his shoulder at her, a smirk spreading slowly across his face as he did some sort of salute with two fingers as a means of saying goodbye.

"And as runner up, may a Clarissa Fray please come up to retrieve her two hundred and fifty thousand dollar check please?"

Clary couldn't believe it; sure, she hadn't come in first like she'd wished, but a quarter of a million dollars was a quarter of a million dollars more than she'd ever owned in her life. Her legs felt like jello as she forced her way through the reluctant crowd, keeping her head down low so that she didn't see the blatant envious glares–or even worse, the fake smiles. That's why she always hated being the center of attention; it required too much energy to be that fake for that long that she didn't want to waste.

Once she was on stage, Clary lifted her head up to face the mass that was below her…and tried not to puke. There were just so many pairs of eyes staring up at her, as if they expected her to say anything that could satiate them if possible, that Clary felt sick to her stomach.

Until she noticed a furious-looking Jace glaring at her from all the way in the back, where he was given a wide berth of clear space due to everyone pushing up to get up front. Clary shrank deep inside of herself, struggling to maintain composure with Jace staring at her like that. But for some reason beyond her, she had a feeling he wasn't staring at her that way.

Slowly, she turned her head just an inch, which was enough to see a girl with ink black hair glaring right back at Jace indirectly from her peripheral vision. She couldn't decipher what her eyes were saying, but if Clary were being honest with herself, she really didn't want to know.

Clary's eyes flickered to the other corner of her periphery to catch Jace as he unfolded his arms from high across his chest and kick off the wall, making his way through the crowd as if he were an untouchable god before leaving the building altogether. And if it weren't for the fact that she was forced to stay on stage and smile as if everything was fantastic, she would've dropped the check and ran after him.

But she couldn't.


	3. Chapter 3

**So because I'm getting a lot of "OMG PLEASE UPDATE SOON!" comments, I decided to give you guys this little teaser. I hope you all show your gratification by leaving me long comments describing what you think about the story so far and where you think it's headed. I already have my ideas of where I want this story to go, but I love reading other people's theories–especially when they're really close but not really. I don't expect to really update this sooner or later since I'm still writing my other story (I hit about 30,000 words; 14 chapters; 150ish pages! Isn't that an accomplishment?) plus I have a growing mountain of schoolwork–which can either result in more updates or less. This is why I need summer :/**

**Rate/Review/Tell me your theories/Comment/Favorite/Subscribe/Whatever it is you do :)**

Clary was just about to slip into R.E.M. sleep when, all of a sudden, her shrill ringtone went off. She moaned, turning on her side to see that it was about…

2 o'clock in the morning.

Fantastic.

Her fingers groped the nightstand next to her bed and she pulled herself up when they stumbled upon the small vibrating device. She ran a limp hand through her wiry hair and grumbled "hello" when the phone found her face.

"Clary? Is that you?"

She froze up and straightened up, a sudden drop in the temperature causing her to feel more alert.

"If this isn't Clary, can you at least tell me who you are?"

"This is Clary," she blurted out, then clamped a hand on her mouth. There was no way Jace was on the other end of the line. It was impossible; in all the time they'd shared together, she hadn't once mentioned the fact that she had a cellphone, let alone her number. And then Clary remembered another thing–how did Jace even know her name? She sifted through her memories, but found none when it came to introductions aside the first meeting–but besides that, he was the only one who introduced himself. So where was he getting all this information from?

"Are you okay? You sound like you're choking on something."

"How do you know my name?" She shot back, her voice rising with fear. "And how did you get my number?"

"I heard your name being announced," Jace answered calmly. "I felt that asking for your name after our first encounter would be awkward as it is, so I just figured I'd wait until someone else said it. And I got your number because I know one of the judge's daughter and requested for it. Why? Am I being too forward for you?"

"Oh." Clary felt the need to push him for more answers, like why he was glaring at the ink-black haired girl, but her brain always shut down after 11 and she had no patience or the willpower to ask anymore. "So what do you want?"

"A night out, if it's not too late for you."

"I thought I get to choose the next d-hangout?" Clary felt her cheeks flush when she almost called it a 'date'.

"I'm not taking that away from you," Jace answered in that cocky tone of his, as if he knew that she knew he was just trying to pressure her to make the hangout now. But Clary knew better. "You can still choose whenever you want to."

"Good to know."

A pause.

"So what are you up to now?" Jace prompted. Clary closed her eyes and leaned back against her headboard and imagined Jace, all sharp angles and golden hues, in the same position as her in his own bed…

"What are you doing now?" Clary deflected. She imagined the corner of his mouth curling up in a lopsided smile and bit her bottom lip. She had to restrain herself from reaching over and picking up a pencil by fiddling with her bed sheets.

"Nothing. Why?"

"Can we meet up somewhere?"

* * *

Clary sat on her front steps, her trench coat keeping her warm enough even though the hem swirled around her ankles with every passing breeze. She pulled it around herself tighter anyway and picked up the steaming hot cup of coffee she had made for herself a few minutes ago.

Jace had yet to arrive. Clary didn't let herself fret, though. The city was a big place, and getting lost was a given if you didn't know how to navigate around it, especially at night. She knew inviting him over was stupid, but she was left with no other options since she didn't know him well enough and wanted some alone time to get to know him.

However, her patience was starting to wear thin. Sure, she was in no hurry since tomorrow was Sunday, but it's not like she didn't have work for her other classes. Right when Clary stood up and was about to put her key into the lock, she heard someone cough from behind her. Whipping around, she saw Jace and felt herself calm down almost immediately–then panic again.

He was wearing what Clary was noting to be his "typical attire": faded blue jeans, a non-descript crewneck t-shirt that subtly showed his defined lean muscles underneath, a zip-up sweater with his guitar bag slung over his shoulder. Not for the first time, Clary pondered the bag's contents.

"Whoa," Clary gasped, almost dropping her coffee. "Hi there?"

"Didn't mean to startle you," he chuckled, his hands in his jeans pockets. "So can I come in or am I not welcome to?"

"You can," Clary said warily as she jimmied the lock and stepped inside. When she turned around, she observed Jace as he navigated his way through her house, her arms folded high across her chest. She stopped at the threshold of the kitchen as he perused her refrigerator's contents and raised both her eyebrows as he held a sausage in between his teeth when his arms became too full with sandwich ingredients.

"And what do you think you're doing?" Clary smiled despite her serious tone when the sausage fell out of Jace's mouth and she waited for Jace to put everything down on the counter before speaking again. "Are you making a sandwich at almost three in the morning?"

"Why not?" Jace continued making his sandwich as he spoke, never taking his eyes off his task until it was completed. He took a bite, sucked on his thumb and held out the sandwich for Clary, offering her a bite. "Oh c'mon, it's not like I have rabies or something."

"And how am I supposed to know that?" Clary said in disdain, crinkling her nose in disgust. "You have terrible guest manners, just so you know."

"What are you talking about?" he asked around a mouthful of food. He leaned against the counter across from Clary and began to purposefully chew with his mouth open. "I took etiquette classes when I was younger, so I know how to be polite."

"Yeah, for dogs," Clary countered and narrowed her eyes when Jace smirked. "So what do you want to talk about now?"

"I have a few things in mind," Jace said after swallowing the remains of his barely-recognizable sandwich whole. He looked at her dead in the eye and Clary felt the air in her lungs escape her when Jace added, "But you're going to have to come with me first."

**So tell me your theories!**


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